


The Beginning.

by wanderingidealism



Series: The Tales of Skadi Thrymdottir. [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: 99 problems and bitches ain't one, A legit bajillion, ALL OF THE NORDS ALL OF THE TIME, Adventure, And General Tullius, But I won't, Canon stretching like whoa, Cheating, Dragons, Farkas is a puppy and Skadi is, Fucking, GASP, I also Hate Maven, I hate Ulfric, I have multiple verses for this, I should stop bashing him, I want elisif to be a secret evil genius, It's the only guild I like okay, LE - Freeform, Like a good fifteen years before or so, Lucia - Freeform, Multi, NON-RACIST NORDS TOO, NORDS - Freeform, Romance, Skadi is a WOMAN and a hundred motherfuckers can't tell her shit, Skadi is not the Dragon born, Skyrim - Freeform, So dawnguard happened WAY before Alduin returned in this, Tags will be added as I proceed, The Companions - Freeform, Tough, Trust me the story was better, Well - Freeform, a variety of OC'S, and you will get at least one story from each of them, because me and my friend made like a bajillion accounts, big - Freeform, but she isn't, finish the sentence for yourself, sophie - Freeform, spouse cheating, though it's mostly me bashing him, ulfric stormcloak - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingidealism/pseuds/wanderingidealism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a friend and I wrote a story about our various accounts and it evolved.<br/>Skadi Thrymdottir (named for her grandfather Thrym) was only trying to get back home.<br/>What she didn't expect was an imperial ambush waiting for her at the border. The daughter of the famed Hero of Dawnguard returns home to find chaos- dragons, civil war, and shifty corruption lingering in the beautiful lands she once knew well. Intending to do her best to become as great a warrior as her father, Skadi will take on these challenges and more. Will she become the Companion she has always dreamed of, or will she be forgotten and unsung? Follow her life story as it begins to unfurl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning.

 

* * *

 

 

 

            She was fearless, to say the least. Red war paint marked her face, barely covering the burn mark on her cheek, and her brown hair was coiled back into twin buns. One Eye was blind; an old wound from a tragic encounter with vampires that happened in her youth.

 

            She had no fear; that was certain; or at least she hid any she may have had beneath a brave face, and hid it well.

            She was not afraid when she was crossing the border back into the Motherland, Skyrim, not even when she was caught up in a battle between Imperials and Stormcloaks.

            She found it distasteful that men and women who should be as brother and sister to each other were fighting a brutal civil war, while the true enemy watched from the shadows, always lurking.

 

            Damn Thalmor; she would have made it to safety if not for them. That was all she could recall, before darkness took over her vision.

 

She was not afraid, not even when she awoke surrounded by strange men, stripped of her armor and weapons, and bound at the wrists; she chose to look on the brightside. At least she was finally back in the Motherland.

 

            “You’re finally awake?” came the voice of the muscular blonde seated before her. She sat up slowly, cringing, “You were trying to cross the border, Right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

 

            There were three men in the carriage around her, all three nords. Two were still in their armor. One of the two, the man seated beside her, was gagged, and a large scarf thrown around his face. The other, seated across from her with a pitying expression on his face, had long blonde hair, and a heavy accent.

 

            “Damn you Stormcloaks,” griped the short Horse Thief beside the man, “Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy.”

            The Theif was clearly out of his element. The girl, who had no affiliation with either the empire or the Stormcloaks, felt his pain.

 

            “If it hadn’t been for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell,” He continued, turning to look at the silent girl, “You and me? We shouldn’t be here! It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!”

 

            The girl couldn’t agree more. She kept silent however, unwilling to let onto her true opinions.

            “We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, Thief,” spat the voice of the blonde again, as he solemnly gazed at the three prisoners sharing the carriage.

            The Imperial soldier driving the carriage shouted at them to shut up. He was casually ignored.

 

            His shouting caused the girl to miss the next portion of the conversation, only tuning back in from her death glare at the Imperial, when she heard the blonde Stormcloak scold the thief.

 

            “Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King,” The soldier growled. The girl’s silence deepened. That was the name of the man, the inhuman bastard, who tore her home in two! That was the name of the bastard who led brother to turn on brother, and whole cities to turn against each other in hate!

 

            She gritted her teeth and seethed; Talos must hate her, causing her to be executed next to this bastard, instead of in glorious battle.

            Not that she harbored any love for the Imperials, oh no; they bent over and allowed the Gods Forsaken Thalmor to control their rights, their religion, and above all else their freedom. If she had been in charge, the girl would have waged open war against them yet again, not against those who should be called brothers.

            Of course, it didn’t matter now; they would all be going to the same place soon.

            “Ulfric? Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the Rebellion! But if they captured you…. Oh gods, where are they taking us?!” The Thief despaired, his voice cracking in fear.

        “I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngard awaits,” Murmured the Stormcloak, giving the thief a pitying glance.

 

            The Girl sat and watched as the Theif panicked before her, as realization dawned. They would not survive this day. There was no jail cell waiting for them at the end of this road; only the executioner’s ax lay before them.

            “What village are you from, Horse Thief?” The gruff blonde asked, a pitying expression on his face.

            “Why do you care?” despaired the thief, petulantly.

            “A Nord’s Last thoughts should be of Home,” was his only reply.

 

            The Girl did think of home, her home, torn in two by the anger of two factions at war. The friendships destroyed by opposing opinions- her inability to stop both sides’ rage. She thought about the feeling of uselessness inside of her; How can one person stop a war from tearing families apart?

            “Rorikstead… I- I’m From Rorikstead,” he muttered, despair eating away at his anger.

            The girl could not agree more with his sentiments.

            “General Tullius Sir! The Headsman is waiting!” came the shout of an imperial brother, much like the swing of a guillotine’s blade. The conversation went dead silent in the wake of that one, finalizing statement.

            They had arrived.

* * *

 

  

 

They were in Helgen.

 

            The prayers of the Thief were useless; none could save them now. The gates held an air of doom about them, so unlike the welcome that should have been found at the threshold of a small, border town.

            Instead, the only welcome they received was that of the Imperial Roll Call, listing names for the block. As if Death had beckoned to them, waiting with open arms and they had come running like a child to their mother.

            “… And the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves! I knew they must have had something to do with this!” Growled the blond Stormcloak, sneering as they passed the group of haughty, stern-faced nobles, dressed in their fine robes and armor. If the girl spat at their feet when they passed, it went unnoticed.

            Pity; it would have made for a lovely parting gift.

 

            The Blond Stormcloak (for that is how she addressed him in her mind) muttered some sweet nothings about a girl he courted from the town, and something about Juniper berries and mead, and a boy called out to his father, who beckoned him inside. Women swore and shouted at the parade of prisoners, either in lament or in hate, and the town of Helgen watched as they rolled by, coming to a halt beside a large tower .

            They were made to stand, awaiting their names to be called on the roster by a tall Nord with light- brown hair, whom the Blond Stormcloak clearly recognized.

 

            “No Wait! We’re not rebels!” Cried the thief, in a desperate plea for mercy.

 

            “Face your death with some courage, Thief,” The stormcloak said, his head held high and his face stony; He was ready to accept his.

 

            “Step towards the block when we call your name! One at a time!” A sharp-voiced Imperial captain snapped, and the Stormcloak rolled his eyes.

            “Empire loves their damn lists,” He muttered, earning a smirk out of the girl, standing equally as proud beside him.

 

            “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,” Said the Nord guard, and the gagged man stepped forward.

            “It has been an Honor, Jarl Ulfric,” said the blonde, nodding his head with gravity and acceptance.

 

            “Ralof of Riverwood,” was next, and the blonde man gave a nod toward the girl, before stepping forward and sneering at, what appeared to be, his old friend.

            “Lokir of Rorikstead,” the imperial said, and the horse thief began to beg, before he ran.

 

            “Archers!” came the merciless command of the Imperial woman, and within seconds, Lokir of Rorikstead was no more than a name to be forgotten.

            “Anyone else feel like running?” the captain sneered, scanning the crowd of prisoners with utmost disgust.

 

            The Nord man turned to the remaining carriage occupant, the girl. The girl held her head up high, and regarded the two Imperials with a glare full of pride and honor. Her arms may have been bound, but she should at least look as terrifying as possible in her final moments. It was a shame really; she had come to the motherland to attempt to end the conflict plaguing its surface, and then join the Companions, like her father and grandfather before her. It seems her road was at an end, in a small village on the Southern Border, at the hands of the executioner, for crimes she did not commit.

 

            “Wait! You there, step forward!” The imperial said. The girl complied.

 

“Who are you?” The Nord asked, when he could find no other name listed under the carriage number.

 

            “Skadi Thrymdottir, last daughter of Thorbjørn Thrymson,” She growled, her red war paint catching the sun at an angle that made her appear intimidating and beautiful at the same time.

 

            “Captain, her name is not on the list,” The Imperial muttered to the short Redguard. He seemed uneasy about her name- having recognized her father’s name from the songs sung about the Hero of Dawnguard.

 

            “I am not concerned with such details, Hadvar, now get moving!” She snapped, turning once more to the rest of the prisoners.

 

            “I’m Sorry sister, I will make sure your remains are given proper respect,” The imperial, Hadvar, promised, mournfully.   Skadi decided to spare him, for now. He was only doing his duty.

 

            Skadi was led over to circle of prisoners around Helgan’s guard tower. A chopping block was laid before it, and a priestess of Arkay was giving final rights.

            “For the love of Talos, let’s just get this over with!” Growled a Stormcloak, impatiently, pushing past his guards, and kneeling on the block himself, defiantly.

            “Very well,” The priestess said, taken aback.

 

            The executioner raised his ax, and the Stormcloak grinned manically, “My ancestors are proud of me, Imperial; are yours?” he laughed, as the axe met his neck with full force. Skadi hoped his bravery earned him a place in Sovngard.

            On the Sideline, General Tullius was berating Ulfric STormcloak, calling him a murderer and an upstart; Skadi had half a mind to shout right back about how the general bent over for the murderous Thalmor.

 

            Suddenly, a loud roar thundered across the sky, shaking the towers, and the glass in the widow panes of the houses. Everyone looked up and around, but saw nothing.

            “what was that?!” Said Hadvar, nervously scanning the skies behind him. Skadi looked forward too, the dread in her stomach deepening at the thought of something much worse than the executioner’s axe hiding in the surrounding mountains.

 

            “I said, next prisoner!” the obnoxious, sharp voice captain shouted, and Skadi stepped forward, glaring at the men who pushed her forth.

            They kicked her to her knees and forced her head down on the block, staring the executioner in the face. She spat on him, glaring murderously, a glare that promised vengeance as a spirit.

            She had planned to spit out a nasty death speech about the Thalmor, but found it too late. The Headsman raised his axe to strike.

 

            All of a sudden, with a loud, murderous roar, the tower behind them shook violently. Atop its ancient, stone frame sat the unbelievable; a ferocious, black-winged dragon, its body as majestic and horrifyingly as it was real, a nightmare straight from the songs of old. It roared, shaking the ground and everyone on it to their feet.

            _“YOL TOOR SHUL!”_

            Wait a minute, was she mistaken?! Did that monstrous thing just _speak_?! Skadi balked before quickly stumbling away from the block, as fire rained down around her, burning all in her path. Her vision was blurry in her one, good eye. She stumbled towards the gruff voice of Ralof, calling to her from a nearby tower. She darted inside just as the dragon launched another fiery blast at the crowd.

 

            Once inside, she took a look around; five people stood within, not counting herself. Two were dead or dying; three were alive. Ralof of Riverwood, Ulfric Stormcloak, and an unnamed Stormcloak woman were present.

 

            “Could the legends be true?! Was that really a dragon?!” Ralof asked, breathless in disbelief.

            “Legends don’t burn down villages,” Ulfric Stormcloak said, darkly. He had a deep, puzzling expression etched into his battle-weary features. As much as she disliked the jarl and his famous bigotry, Skadi could not help but to admire his care for his own people.

 

            It was decided that Ulfric and the other woman would meet with Ralof in a safe haven, and that Ralof was in charge of escorting Skadi to safety.

            Skadi followed the Stormcloak out the tower window, across the burning village, and through the screams and the smoke, losing him in the haze, and following Hadvar for a while, until they reached the Yard outside Helgen’s Keep.

            There, Ralof and Hadvar met one on one, and engaged in battle, until a shout from the dragon separated them. Intending to escape on her own, Skadi mistook the retreating form of Ralof to be a fleeing villager, and followed him into the keep.

            Inside she paused for a moment to catch her breath, looking up only when she heard Ralof speaking a final blessing on a comrade who had hidden in the keep to die.

 

            Nearly four hours later the two escaped the burning city, watching the dragon take flight overhead from behind a rock.

            “The legends are true!” Raylof whispered, aghast, “I never expected this to happen!”

 

            “I don’t think anyone did,” Skadi nodded her agreement, “though with the civil war on we shouldn’t be surprised. The old songs say that if brothers took arms against each other, Alduin would return. Your war seems to have brought that down upon us,” She was quite cold to the soldier. She was frustrated, not only having lost everything she had left to her name but also the only thing that held meaning to her- her father’s battle-axe. The same Skyforge Steel that he had carried from his days as a Companion. The imperials had taken it with them when they stripped her of her armor and her weapons; it was probably nothing but a pile of ash and molten metal lying in the wreckage of Helgen. She scowled darkly.

 

            “Do not lease your venom on me,” Raylof said, “It was no fault of mine that you were captured.”

 

            “No but your “righteous war” has blinded you in more ways than one,” Skadi shrugged, before sighing, “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day; I’ve not only lost the little money I had left after paying for passage into my own homeland, but also my father’s battle axe. It was all I had left of him.”

 

            “I understand that pain well,” Raylof said sympathetically, “In return for you raid escaping, why don’t you follow me to my sister, Gerder’s house. She’ll need to know of what happened, and you will need a place to rest.”

 

            “That would be wonderful,” Skadi nodded, “I accept your hospitality.”

 

            The Blond stormcloak helped Skadi up from the place she was resting and turned to face the path.

 

            “I do have a question, if you don’t mind,” Raylof said,  as they began to walk. Skadi hummed her response, turning to look at him.

 

            “When Hadvar- I mean the Imperial who read the list of names- when he asked you for yours…. What I mean to say is, are you really the daughter of _that_ Thorbjørn? The Hero of Dawnguard himself?” the Nord looked slightly awed.

 

            “Aye. He was my father, now dead these seven years,” Skadi shrugged, continuing to walk. She forced herself to ignore the flashbacks of a cold, bloody dungeon and feverish nights spent crying and shivering. She forced back the memories of long weeks spent nearly starved in the basement of the Vampire Lord, Harkon, and of her father’s relieved smile when she pulled through alive.

 

Raylof seemed to sense the dark thoughts radiating from her mind and kept silent, the two walking silently into the rapidly approaching darkness of Skadi’s first sunset back in her home land.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 

_Five or six years previous, Ivarstead…_

 

 

            She sat on the front porch of her house waiting. Her father was due back from Bruma the day before, and she was beginning to worry. Thorbjørn had never been this late before, especially not when on a mission with Toh Lei. Skadi sighed deeply, gazing at the rapidly waning sunlight as it sunk below the horizon.

 

            That’s when she saw the torches. An Imperial Messenger was riding towards Ivarstead. The noise was enough to bring the citizens from their homes, curious onlookers to the tragedy about to unfold.  The messenger stopped in front of the cottage Skadi and her father shared, and Skadi felt her stomach drop. The messenger looked grieved, as though this was a job he had to undertake several times and had never gotten used to. He genuinely looked sorry for her.

            “Are you Skadi, daughter of Thorbjørn Thrymson?” he asked, softly. Skadi nodded her head slowly, he breath caught in her throat.

 

            “a-Aye. I am,” she replied, “Is there news?” she asked, knowing what was to come. The Courier unbuckled the weapon strapped to his back and unwound the cloth wrapped around it for protection. Skadi’s mouth went dry as she recognized the details; every curve caught the fading light mournfully, its handle never to know its wielder’s hands ever again.

 

            “Your father fell in battle against a Cult of Boethia in the mountains near Bruma,” the courier said, clapping a hand to the girl’s shoulder sympathetically as he handed the heavy blade to her, “He died a brave man, a hero. You should not mourn his loss but celebrate what he has done in life. He was a true hero of Skyrim, the Hero of Dawnguard!” the courier continued, but it wasn’t enough to stem the flow of tears already dripping down the girl’s face, “I am sorry, but we were unable to find his remains… all we were able to retrieve was the battle-axe.” The child was silent for a stretch of time, her hands trembling as they gripped the weapon.

 

            “And his friend?” Skadi asked, coldly a few moments later, “He travelled with an Argonian, an old war friend of his. Did you find his remains as well?”

 

            The courier shook his head, “We were to meet him at the gates to the shrine’s center, but when we arrived the gates were blown open and corpses littered the hallway. He and his comrade must have gotten caught up in battle and fought their way to the center. We found the remains of his clothes, the battle axe, and a puddle of blood at the statue’s base, and little else; the argonian was either killed or ran off as soon as his friend was butchered.”

 

            Skadi swore violently, gripping the axe, “The traitor! Da shouldn’t have trusted the snake! He’s been acting oddly for months!” she snarled, turning toward the direction Toh Lei's new house lay in; it had been abandoned a month before. The liar had gotten his family out before he had betrayed Thorbjorn's- one of the many odd thing she had noticed upon his return into her father's life.  Skadi gripped the axe tightly, pulling it close. Toh Lei had been acting oddly; first he showed up out of the blue after two years of absence after the two men had fought with one another, then he had begged Thorbjørn for forgiveness for the falling out- a thing the scaly bastard was not often wont to do. She should have never let him lure her Da on an adventure when he had that shifty look in his eyes! She should have gone after him, even if her father had told her no. Skadi fell to her knees and screamed in frustration. The small crowd around the cottage sucked back a breath, all feeling sympathy for the young girl.

 

            “There’s more,” The courier said sadly, “As you are not of age to be alone, you are to be sent to Bruma, where your closest relatives are living. Your uncle has volunteered to take you in…. He’ll be here in less than a month to take you to your new home,” the courier finished, once again clapping the girl on the shoulder.

 

            “So my entire life is to be ripped apart in one day then?” Skadi growled in frustration, “I may as well run off to Whiterun now.”

            “Your father was a good man,” The courier replied, “Don’t let his death be in vain. Train hard, become a better warrior than he, that he may greet you in Sovngard with pride.”

 

            The courier left shortly after giving his message. Skadi gathered her things together, dividing up what she needed to sell and what she could keep. She prayed her uncle wasn’t anything like the imperials she had met. She penned a note to the Harbinger of the Companions, to let him know of her father’s demise, and began to settle her affairs.

 

            When her uncle arrived in a covered-wagon days later, she looked back on her tiny, empty cottage in Ivarstead knowing that she would never see it again. When they crossed the border into Cyrodiil days later, she looked back at her homeland longingly, swearing she would come back.

 

            It would be seven, long years of toil and hardship before she would ever set foot into her northern home again.

 

***

 

She spent those seven years constantly at ends with her uncle and aunt. Her uncle had long since given up on the Nord way of life, choosing instead to adopt the imperial lifestyle of his wife. He had forsaken Talos as a god the moment he decided to stay in Bruma, and with that decision shucked everything it meant to be a Nord.

 

            Skadi appreciated them taking her in, but loathed their expectations for her. Her aunt complained frequently of her choice to train as a warrior instead of as a lady. Her uncle, a merchant, was more understanding of the need to fight, but would always side with his wife in the arguments that frequented the household. Her cousins belittled and mocked her, both girls treating her as nothing more than a country bumpkin, some foolish Nord with not a lick of intelligence or wit, more ready to use a sword over her mind. Skadi hated them, and did whatever she could to prove them wrong. She spent long hours forcing herself to read and write until she had perfected the art, crafting poetry with a skill her Bard mother would have been envious of.

 

            The people of the village found her an odd curiosity; she was unfailingly polite to her elders and always willing to help out with grunt work should it be needed in exchange for training or books. She was surprisingly well-read (to them) for a Nord, and was a quick learner. The local mage found her exceptionally talented in healing arts, and gave her as much training as he could in the school of restoration. He practically begged her to become a mage, though he didn’t discourage her goal of becoming a Companion either. However despite their support she was always sticking out, never fully welcomed into their society; she was too violent, for them, too angry. She was like ice and fire mixed in one being. They never understood her drive to become a warrior, and saw her mannerisms and customs as barbaric and primitive. They made it clear that while she was accepted there, she was not welcome. 

 

            The boys of the village both loved and feared Skadi; she was strong enough to take on all of them and win, and they tended to stay clear of her.  She was also quite beautiful as she grew older, but with that beauty came the sense that she was untouchable; she knew what she wanted in life and it clearly had nothing to do with them. Any who tried to convince her otherwise- and a few did, at first- met the flat end of her battle-axe furiously. Any who got on her bad side were known to be seen looking up at her from the flat of their backs as she loomed above them, a wolf waiting to finish the kill. The first time someone had challenged her strength, had insulted her homeland, her gender, and her father, the boy in question had ended up well acquainted with her fists. He was lucky it was not her battle axe.

Skadi was tough, but not merciless or cruel. Often she kept to herself, never seeking attention or creating drama if she could avoid it. She found the girls her age around the town were petty and fickle and took no interest in what they delighted in. she loathed having to dress formally, as the ladies of the inner cities of Cyrodill did, and she refused to change her face paint from the fierce warrior streaks running crimson down her cheeks and onto her neck. she sold any jewelry given to her, preferring to hunt and train rather than pretty herself up. However there was something distinctly feminine about her personality; she was rather like a lioness, stalking some far off prey. She was as deadly as she was feminine, but also very much an untrained youth. The Town watchmen and Guards enjoyed training her, if nothing else than to give themselves something to do, and she flourished under their tutelage, but knew she needed more.

 

            The merchants and hunters loved her skill at hunting- both treasure and animal- and were always happy to do business with her, even hire her to cart goods to the nearby towns. Local bandits began to fear her, and the farmers didn’t mind the extra hand in the fields. The night watchmen gave her as much training as they could, and she learned quickly. She was happy to guard the city at night, if only to look at the dim glow of the aurora in the sky just over the mountains, as if it were beckoning her home.

 

            Her aunt struggled to control her, to force her to become a proper, young Imperial lady. She went so far as to made her stop painting her face; she forced Skadi to bare her horrific scars to the world unless she painted her face like a proper lady, as opposed to the brilliant crimson streaks Skadi wore proudly. Skadi rebelled, getting her face permanently inked with the money she earned from selling the pelts of animals she hunted. Skadi was not ashamed of the scars, nor the distant memories of torture in the dungeons of an ancient castle that the scars brought up; she simply was proud of her heritage and wore her face paint as such. Even her mother- when she lived- wore face paint, and it only advanced her beauty. Her aunt was furious with the tattoos and had her punished for a month.

 

            Skadi slipped out her window and slunk away into the woods that night. She went on a hunting and training mission before coming back in the dead of night.

 

                 For all that the elder folk of the town respected her for her bravery, her zeal, and her willingness to help as much as she could, Skadi still found herself mocked for her Nord heritage and her beliefs. She found that Talos's very name had become a taboo and she was punished if she was caught defending him as a God. She had expected that much, but not the cruel assumptions of the people she should have been able to call peers. Her cousins' distaste of her wild behavior and... "unfashionable" clothing (it was more practical and simple than their fine dresses, and the shoes pinched far less and the entire ensemble provided far greater mobility but that did not matter in the face of fashion and social standing) was almost universal in the entire female population of the village. Skadi found herself being stared at as if she were dressed clownishly, and the women and girls tittered behind their hands. Even when she tried fiting in she stood out; she had consented to wear dresses on festival days only, only to find that when she dawned the latest styles and fashions of the Imperial capitol, the other girls her age would stare at her amused, chuckling at how "hard" she was trying ("the poor dear, might as well have ot bothered at all"), and even though she had proven herself well versed in lore, sciences, mage craft (restoration) and reading and writing, the taunts about her "Nord Intelligence" never ceased! And The villagers called  _Skadi_ the closed minded one! when they insulted her heritage and race behind her back and never to her face like the cowards they were, and then ran the Khajiit caravans from town when they only sought to do business. Out of all of the villagers Skadi found herself the most tolerant;  when merchants and visitors of other races visited, Skadi was the only one willing to trade with them or talk to them. The rest of the village seemed to avoid the Argonians and Khajiits and the Bosmer travellers, despite the Imperial Nation's so-called tolerance.  In short Skadi found the people to be hypocrites save a few small number which included the Mage and several guards. The village in turn found her too odd to truly comprehend. Too un-imperial for their liking.

 

            For all that the Townsfolk of Bruma accepted her into their midst, they never truely welcomed Skadi into the fold.  She was too.... different. Too Nord to fit into Imperial Life and too in love with legends and her desire to be a warrior to fit into their expectations of a young lady. and for all that her aunt and uncle pressed the matter it did no good; Skadi rebelled. Even though she had a few friends in the town, Skadi never forgot her homeland, and was overcome with desire to return.   She hated Bruma. She hated living with her aunt and uncle, and their expectations. She hated being belittled and stereotyped as an unintelligent, redneck Nord. She hated the leering looks of the older boys in the village as she passed, the looks that no amount of thrashing could make go away.  She hated being forced to forgo armor, and she disliked dresses and fancy shoes with an intensity to rival that of the sun. As much as the other villagers grew accustomed to her attitude and her lifestyle, they still found her strange and were not wont to converse with her. Save for a few old soldiers and the odd Nord passing through, Skadi found herself alone, with only the name of a legend to ground her. But she endured.

 

            She was the daughter of Thorbjørn Thrymson; the Hero of Dawnguard, the thunder-bear that rent through the elves in the Great War. She would not let him down by breaking now, when not even the vampires’ tortures claimed her. She would become as great as he, a Companion to rival his legacy.

 

            Even if she didn’t quite know or believe it yet.


End file.
